The suddenness with which cars and their parts can BDFU (blow da eff up) is remarkable.
Even more remarkable is how infrequently it actually happens.
Today, it happened to me--and admittedly a bit of light drag-racing was going on. But the contenders, my buddy's 1996 Volvo 850R mysteriously down on power, and my bone stock 2004 Volvo XC70, weren't exactly top-fuel quality.
I say the XC was bone stock: it was sporting brand new front axles, properly installed and torqued to spec.
And, I thought, properly rebuilt.
Most of the more complex car parts that you'd buy at your AutoZone or, in this case, O'Reilly's are rebuilt, generally in China or Mexico, and for the most part, they work just fine.
This one lasted me a solid week.
There was a startling BANG! and the right side of the car began shaking violently, the ABS and traction control pulsing and freaking as the U-joint connecting the axle shaft to the constant velocity joint shook itself to pieces.
Being conscientious, and mildly terrified, I pulled over at the soonest possible opportunity, just south of the east gate of McConnell Airforce base, my buddy in the 850 kindly following, as he noticed the terrible sound and the right front wheel bouncing like an sugar-hyped toddler.
One quick look, and it was obvious what had happened, the inner bits unceremoniously puking through the broken boot and onto the suspension subframe.
The center, as Yeats prophesyed, could not hold; mere anarchy was loosed upon my drivetrain.
It'd be easy here to blame the poor saps who assembled the axle, but they work harder than I do for a lot less pay, as does the customer service person at the O'Reilly's who sold me the axle, and the one who'll (hopefully) give me my money back.
But that whole chain of suffering exists so that I'll be satisfied, so that my contentment as a low-level consumer in a nation of privilege will sufficiently mask the injustices that pull the profits ever upward.
--Lael Ewy
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